


Guts

by kriegersan



Category: Archer (Cartoon)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Multi, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 07:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3112031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriegersan/pseuds/kriegersan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lana was never very good at listening to what she knew was best for her. Pre-S1 fic, a look at how Archer and Lana may have gotten together. Also, spanking kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guts

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Homophobia, racism, sexism, etc. Also, notice for alluded threesomes, implied almost non-con, violence, casual sex, unsafe sex, spanking, praise kink, mentioned rimming, cum eating, mild BDSM, bondage. Also two idiots who can't talk about feelings because of pride.
> 
> I wrote this drunk on wine at 1AM. Apologies for any divergences from canon, mischaracterization, typos or awkward sexytimes. Comment/kudos if you enjoyed.
> 
> Catch me on Tumblr at highandholy.tumblr.com.

They’d agreed to be friends, at first, after a few months of antagonism (mostly from her, in his direction). A peace treaty, of sorts, despite her gut screaming, _Stay away_. 

Lana had heard the rumors about him, loathed him and also wanted to see him naked, already, the boozing, the womanizing, and she wasn’t all that keen on getting involved with someone who was, a) her boss’ son, and b) a total man-slut with a significant amount of disrespect solely aimed at women. After all, he’d first approached her saying, “So, I’ve never fucked a black chick,” to which she’d firmly slapped him across the mouth, spittal on the back of her fingers, a lecherous grin crawling up the side of his face as he cupped his cheek. 

They’d gone on a mission together not but two hours later, him flanking her, watching her hand signals closely, backing her up with rigid efficiency, splattering brains out against the concrete with a boyish laugh of approval. God, he was sexy when he was murdering their antagonists in cold blood.

Malory noticed their chemistry on the field, started putting them on missions together, speaking with Lana about herself and their work over straight gin and expensive dinners. Lana felt spoiled by the woman, like she was being courted, Malory was nothing if not charismatic to a fault. She smiled with bared teeth, offering her drink for a toast, enjoying the company of her most recently enlisted agent. Talked about her son in low, disparaging tones. Lana was quickly made aware how greatly she considered him a failure, his jealousy as he was made aware that she was getting special treatment. 

Still, they got closer over week-long missions, the slope of his shoulders in those tight turtlenecks he wore, his voice as he made reasonably tactical decisions, getting smashed together in the nights and sharing ridiculous stories. She wouldn’t be tempted, not by his unguarded, drunken smiles, or how excited he got explaining things he enjoyed to her.

It wasn’t long until they were drinking outside of work together, staying at the bars until their coworkers had left, poured over the tables like Cyril’s forgotten drinks. Archer was entertaining, he was sweet and awkward when trying too hard.

“Come home with me, Lana,” he said. He always said her name, constantly, circles deep under his eyes, lips on the edge of a fresh bourbon. She polished off her drink, let it fall too hard onto the bartop.

“No. I know about you, idiot. Like I’d come home with you, just so you could tell everyone at the office about it.”

“I promise I wouldn’t! Probably,” he insisted, but she laughed and dismissed him, headed home for the night. 

Home, to her lonely bed, laying in the center with the noise of the city burning below her. God, she was lonely. She flipped open her cell, stared at the screen for a moment, debated sending him a text. Come over. It would be so easy.

Instead, a new message popped up first; “ _Sorry about tonight. I am drunk. So drunk. But I do want you to come over. Even though you don’t, because you totally hate me. You have tits. The nicest tits. I mean you’re nice. Have a good night, Lana._ ” 

A dick pic followed soon after. Lana pretended her mouth didn't water.

She slapped her phone shut, tossed it off the bed. He wasn’t worth it.

The next mission they went on, she fucked up badly. Ended up with her wrists pinned under a sweaty assailant, their mark, his stinking mouth on her lips, knife-wound in her side, world starting to go fuzzy. She sputtered below him, trying to get her knees to a weak spot, her elbows, anything. Instead, Archer had burst into the room, nailed him in the temple with the toe of his boot, angry, kicked his face in before he could react, gurgling blood on the fine, marble floor. His skull and brains pieced into meaty chunks under the sole of his foot.

“Are you okay?” he said, hovering over her, hands afraid to touch, eyebrows creased as she pulled the gown she’d been wearing up to cover her breasts. “Uh, shit, Lana, I mean, watch what the hell you’re doing.”

“I’m fine. It’s fine.”

She turned her face away, cleared her throat, sat up as he retreated away from her, face settling back into his usual mask of indifference. “Okay, then, idiot. Jesus. If you weren’t busy getting almost-boned by evil dictators, we could totally get out of here with the intel we needed. You got the combination out of him, right?”

“I got it.” She cleared her throat, gave up on her ripped dress and padded over to the safe. They’d snagged the pages they needed without a further hitch, him insisting she take up the rear because of her injury, Lana only retreating to the safety of her bedroom once freshly bandaged, back to New York, losing herself in reality TV. 

She purposely purged her mind, refused to address what had almost happened to her, nursing her injured side, drank a bottle and a half of wine before her cell rang.

“Hey, you busy? Want to watch a movie?”

“With you? No.”

“Fine. Be that way. Refuse my glorious friendship.”

“Archer, come on. You _totally_ just want to be friends.”

“Well, maybe I also maybe want to eat your pussy raw. Tongue fuck you 'til you scream."

Lana's mouth went dry.

"But that’s beside the point. I am offering my perfectly valid and honest friendship, to you, Lana, in your time of need.”

She snorted. “Who says I need you.”

“Call it my Spidey-sense. Of needing.”

“ _Fuck_ your Spidey-sense.”

“ _Wow_. Somebody got into the wine, hey?”

“Shut up.”

“What’s your buzzer?”

“...290.”

He showed up in twenty minutes with a fresh bottle of merlot, a few choice movies he’d picked out, half of them eagerly starring Burt Reynolds. She picked _Boogie Nights_ , they settled down on either side of her sofa, her knees up to her chest, she didn’t want him any closer. She couldn’t resist him, if he did.

And of course, halfway through the movie, watching porn stars fuck each other, him quoting half the movie under his breath, he was over her, kissing her, hand under her shirt and bra, squeezing her left breast, thumb over her nipple, Lana keyed up and utterly wet, his thigh pushing between her legs. 

She had to admit, he was beautiful, alluring, but she knew he wasn’t what she wanted, couldn’t commit to her and was far too much of a manwhore. It hadn’t been but two days ago, he’d been bragging to the guys at work about banging a literal princess, how he’d convinced her to let him fuck her anally through hours of eating her ass. 

The thought alone caused heat to crawl up her spine, curling tightly along the base of her throat. Her stomach dipped. She swallowed, Archer licked her lips, pulled back, a strand of saliva connecting them until he brushed it away with a finger.

“Bed?” he suggested, his voice low and calm, and she shook her head.

“I can’t do this,” she insisted, and he moved off her, back onto his knees. He looked disappointed, and Lana’s gut crawled -- she hated disappointing people.

“I mean, I get it. We work together and whatever.”

“It’s not that, exactly.”

He frowned. “So you’re not into white guys, or something?”

She snorted. “Of course you’d think it was that.”

“God, what is it with you and pulling the race card. Jesus.”

“I-- what? Fuck you.”

“I wish. I think my dick is so hard it’s gonna fall off. I wanna be inside you, Lana”

She didn’t have a response to that, breath catching in her throat, rearranging her shirt as she clamped her mouth shut so she didn’t say something she would regret. Her breasts ached, she wanted his hands back on her, despite the wounds, despite hating everything he represented. “You should go,” she said, curtly, “It’s late.” Archer, for his part, looked a little hurt, a little offended.

“Fine. My thanks for being a nice guy, I guess. Getting thrown out on my ass.”

She sighed. “I’m not-- throwing you out ‘on your ass’. I just. Look. I don’t want to make any rash decisions.”

Lana walked him to the door, watched him put on his jacket. He looked reluctant to leave, there was something desperate in his eyes. “This isn’t a like ‘never happening’ thing, right? Just a ‘not right now’?”

“I’m not sure,” she responded, honestly. “I don’t want to be just a piece of ass to you, I guess.”

His face creased interestingly at that, but he quickly recovered.

“Lana, you’re not-- Can I kiss you?” His eyebrow raised, and she, despite her gut telling her not to, nodded. He had her backed up against the wall in a second, hiking up her dress, mouth devouring her own, tongue twining against hers.

She stopped him as his fingers crawled up her inner thigh, and he groaned, grinding his hips up against her. “Fuck, Lana, I can feel how wet you are. Just let me--”

“No. Not tonight.” Lana put a hand to his chest, gently eased him off of her. He righted himself, adjusted his hard dick in his pants, smoothed back his hair where she’d been pulling at it. 

“Okay, so… text you tomorrow?”

“Fine.”

“Jesus, I meant about work stuff. Dummy.”

“Shut up.”

Archer smiled at her as he took his leave. Lana locked the door, leaned up against it, caught her breath. She didn’t know why she felt so weird, and even happy. Probably the wine. He was a bastard.

They went on more missions after that, assigned by Malory who’d quickly noted how ruthlessly productive they were, and Lana felt like he’d forgotten it’d happened, entirely. He kept it professional, kept his distance from her, didn’t hit on her (as much). Archer looked like he was struggling, for his part, especially on missions when she had to flirt with dignitaries or diplomats, push her cleavage out and offer sexual gratification to earn their favor. His mouth had watered, eyes hard, and he’d put bullets in their heads, chuckling as they’d made their getaway. Called her stupid, stared at her tits, but didn’t try to come onto her. She wished he would, more, as the weeks drew by without so much as a request for a date or a fuck or _anything_.

Lana was up on a ladder planting a hidden camera when he came up behind her, she was so aware of him, holding the rickety wooden frame for her as he stared up her skirt. She looked down at him, frowned, despite the clench in her groin. “What?”

“Nothing. Just enjoying the view, Lana.”

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer. Idiot.”

“Can’t smell a picture, _idiot_ ,” he said, lewdly, and her scowl deepened. His looked nervous, he was sweating. God, could he really _smell_ her? Was she that obvious?

She started to slide down, and his hands caught her hips before she could. He slapped her ass, roughly, once, sending a chill down her spine, hands flying off of her seconds later. “Gah. Did not mean to do that. Reflex. I mean, I respect you, or whatever, totally accidental spanking, did not mean to spank you, Lana, whom I respect.”

The high-heels of her boots hit the floor soon after, and his palms settled around her waist again, his chest dangerously close to hers. Lana looked under her eyelashes at him, not having to turn her gaze so sharply downwards, like she had to with most people. “I mean, what I’m trying to say is, Lana, I respect you as an agent, and a friend, or whatever. I know you don’t like being treated like a piece of meat.”

“And still, you spank me like one of your whores.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it. Turned his head away, nervous, never loosening his grip on her, despite the hostile forces likely lurking outside the door. “...It was just really tempting, okay? I could _smell_ you, and-- your ass, I mean, it... I couldn’t resist. I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, well, it felt, um, I wouldn’t hate it, if you did that again.” She hadn’t been touched since the last time he’d peeled her apart. Lana was aching for him.

A wicked grin spread across his face. “Oh, really?”

That was how they wound up in a hotel, drunk, days later, one dead ass shady diplomat later, Lana belted by her hands to the bed frame on her belly, Archer straddling her thighs. Her ass had gone mottled from the sharp slaps of his palm, they hadn’t even fucked yet, hadn’t got to that point, his cock hard and leaking, resting in the splay of her legs.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, Lana. God, I want you. I wish I had my paddle.” He spanked her again twice, for good measure, her pushing up into his hands. “ _Really_ wish.”

“Oh my God,” she babbled, pressing her face into the musty pillow. “Again, please, I just--”

Archer dipped his fingers between her legs, into her core, drawing them out again to suck them, her taste, into his mouth. “Mm. Knew you’d like this.”

Her face felt hot. “Archer.”

“Knew I’d have you begging for it, Lana.”

“Stop it,” she whined, not meaning it, as he grabbed one cheek, spreading her apart, her cunt clenching, laughing airily as he looked down on her needy form. He released her, spanked her again, hard, her moaning as she drew away from the harsh hits. “I can’t, I need--”

“You need my dick. I understand, Lana. No need to be so shy. I know you’re a slut for my cock.”

“Shut _up_!” God, it was so demeaning, but she _craved_ it. He hit her hard on her ass, rapidly, her voice dying in her throat as she keened, eyes squeezed shut. Archer drew back, spreading her legs, leaning down to bite a bruise into her asscheek. He fingered her a little, opening her, though she didn’t really need it. She’d been wet all week listening to him, wanting it, waiting for the right time, but unwilling to make a move on her own. She had to make him work for it.

He moved up the bed, undid the ties and let her turn over, Lana favoring her lower back as she tried to relieve the pressure against her sore backside. Archer moved between her parted thighs, kissing her as he lowered his weight onto her. “So, I don’t actually have a condom,” he said into her lips.

“Don’t care, too horny,” she mumbled, despite herself, licking into his mouth. Usually, she was a stickler for safe sex, but there was something about him, something that made her lose control of her morals. Goddamnit. “Just, uh, pull out.”

“Awesome.” 

He’d pushed inside her in seconds, Lana’s thighs arcing up to wrap around his hips, rocking against him as much as he did into her. She’d wanted this for so long now, played this game with him, pretending she wasn’t interested, and it was sensational, her whole body singing as he steadily fucked into her. He slid his hand down between them, teasing her clit, making her shake. 

She got away with three orgasms that night on his cock, and he, of course, didn’t pull out, came hard into her, saying her name. Ate his cum out of her, Lana arching under him, hands in his thick, dark hair as she came a fourth, fifth time, until she literally couldn’t move.

She took Plan B the next day, back in New York, with a strong cup of black, bitter coffee. Got an STD test later that week, that luckily, came back negative. She’d never make that mistake again. She couldn’t afford to.

“Are you avoiding me?” Archer said, weeks later, on a mission. She steadied the rifle, eyes on the sights, on their target, as he laid next to her, spotting with binoculars. She scoffed, bracing her hands.

“No, idiot. How could I avoid you? We’re on this fucking mission together, like… right now. And I’m trying to concentrate. Asshat.”

“No, I mean like… sexually. Friend-ly. You haven’t talked to me outside of work since, uh, you know.”

“Shh.”

“No, Lana, I will not 'shh'. Since we had that, frankly, fucking amazing sex, you won't even look at me. It’s like you hate me or something.”

She sighed, moved her eye away from the piece, before repositioning herself on her belly. “I don’t... hate you, Archer.”

“So what? You converted to lesbianism?”

“Can we talk about this later? Please?”

“Well you’re either a dyke or you just, like, loathe mind-blowing sex or something. Turned into a nun, I guess, because my dick was just too Christ-like, you had to worship at the temple. Of my dick.”

“Do you ever stop being full of shit?”

“I don’t know, do you ever stop talking to me after what I thought was a fantastic, uh, _intimate_ fuck session and just leaving me wondering what the hell I did wrong?”

She fired a shot, blowing clear through an assassin’s head, his body crashing to the table of rich Eurotrash behind him, screams rising below. “To your left,” he said, bluntly, and she cocked it again, fired a second shot into his accomplice. “Nice.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” She lowered the rifle, heard him release a shaky breath. No, it was what _she_ had done wrong. Letting her guard down with him, letting him get to her that way, it was unacceptable. “I just don’t think it should happen again. I want to keep this professional. It was a minor transgression.”

“Fine,” Archer spat. He raised the binoculars again. “Wait, looks like you have one more. Hit ‘em.”

She chambered another round, blew him away. 

“Nice!” Archer hooted, slapped her, friendly, on the back, and she didn’t wish at all it was his hand on her ass, his mouth on hers.

There was an ISIS birthday celebration later that week, at the usual dive bar, co-workers loaded among them, betting on Archer to drink everyone else under the table. Predictably, he did, throwing back shots like no one’s business, a semi-wasted Lana cheering him on, giggling at the table. He kept smiling at her as girls flirted with him, ignoring them as she slipped out with Jane, who wanted a guilty cigarette despite her recent cancer diagnosis.

She blearily leaned against the wall, helped Jane light her smoke, took a drag off of it in her stupor, needing something to do with her hands. He was so attractive, and with Malory gone now, she didn’t have anyone she needed to impress, not professionally at least. It was so hard not to drag him into the bathroom, not to suck his cock, fuck him right there.

Archer wandered out the front door, hands in his pockets, raising an eyebrow at Lana with a cigarette in her mouth. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t. She does. I mean, I was just…”

“Being a fucking idiot.”

“Pot, kettle.”

“Speaking of pot… Jane? Cancer weed?”

“Nope. Not for you, dickbag. I’m going back inside,” she said, and left the two of them together, alone, again. Lana cleared her throat, awkwardly, tossed the barely smoked cigarette onto the ground, snuffing it out with the toe of her boot.

He sauntered forward, barely confident, and she tried not to look at him, even as he steered her to face him, hands on her hips. Archer tucked his nose into her neck, pressed a kiss to her pulse. “So, I was thinking…”

“You? _Thinking_?”

“...You suck.”

Her cheeks heated. “Shut up.”

"Can we hang out?"

"Now?"

"Yeah."

Archer called a cab, and went home with her. He didn’t even try to fuck her, they just slept in the same bed, both completely wasted, sprawled out all over each other. He talked in his sleep, wormed his way closer to her, face in her hair as he laughed to himself, dead to the world.

Lana spent the better half of the morning, puking her guts up. To his favor, he offered her aspirin, procured from the depths of her empty cupboards, and water, clutching his forehead as he laughed at her, bowled over the toilet. He barely even made fun of her, (barely).

He cooked her breakfast, with the meager amount of actual food (not expired takeout) she had in her house, a couple of eggs and some dry toast. As he was pressed up against the stove, she smacked his ass on the way to the coffee maker, noting the way he pushed back into her hands as she did. Interesting. Very interesting.

He went through her book shelf after she’d managed to eat half of what he’d made, making fun of her shitty taste in romance novels, finding a few self-help books he’d liked. Archer recommended a few, which she filed away, mentally, deciding already she’d never read them. She fell asleep on the couch, on his lap, while he read, and she’d never really taken him for the bookish type. He made it ¾ of the way through the pages when she’d woken up again, eyebrow cocked as he suggested, “Shower?”

Lana’s one novelty in her tiny apartment was her shower, with multiple, detachable heads, gorgeous chrome detailing. Archer complimented her on her taste, staring at her naked body, before he fucked her against the sink, Lana clinging for dear life onto the edge, ankles scrabbling at his thighs. 

She jerked him off in the shower, him biting her shoulder, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe. He came over her stomach, the tops of her thighs, quickly washed away by the water, panting into her neck. Lana smacked his ass again, as he finished, and he moaned, but quickly silenced it. Clearly a little ashamed. Her cunt tightened. She could work with that. He wanted it.

He stayed the whole day, the next night, at her apartment, and at times she thought about asking him to leave, because the silence grew awkward. Just a soon as she thought he was finally getting sick of her, he’d ask something, and they’d launch into a debate, and she wasn’t going to ask him to go if he clearly didn’t want to. She liked spending time with him, despite her head firmly telling her that this was going to hurt.

And it would hurt. For him. For now. That night, she brought out the flog, the soft leather pieces resting in her hand. “So, I’m not really sure how you feel about this, but I figured I’d ask, because--”

“I’m not really sure how I feel about it either, Lana,” he said, staring at the item in her hands, “but I am totally willing to explore this thing with you. Or at least my dick is.”

She had him bent over the bed, cracking the leather firmly into his skin, making him cry out, moan, push his ass back as she gently touched him following each round of strokes. Her pussy was soaked, wetness bleeding through her lacy panties. Her mouth was watering. She’d never had a man respond to her so eagerly as Archer had, so quickly.

“Good boy,” she said, low in her throat. He moaned louder at that, craning his hips up to meet her touch. “Such a good boy, Archer.” He responded well to praise, eagerly demanded more of it with his body.

She flipped him over after his ass had gone a violent shade of red, pinned his shoulders with her knees and sat on his face. His tongue fucked eagerly into her, nose buried in her ass, hands wrapped around her thighs. From their prior encounters, she’d never anticipated him being this submissive, but she liked it, enjoyed the needy noises he’d made, how greedily he was devouring her. She felt wanted. She showered praise on him, which he beautifully responded to. He made her come twice, came on his own after she’d barely touched his cock, clearly strung on the edge of orgasm for too long.

They slept together, again, that night, her coiled around his back, Archer playing the little spoon. He held her hand tightly against his chest, laughing softly in his sleep. She pretended not to notice.

They went back to work as normal, the next day. Worked more efficiently in the field, deadly, taking down everything in their wake, bullets and blood flowing effortlessly between them. Tag-teamed a scheming, bisexual parliament member of a foreign country, Archer eagerly fucking her mouth while Lana reluctantly lowered herself onto the other woman’s strap-on. The look in his eyes was all she needed to keep going. Malory only saw green as the more elite assignments kept pouring in. She showered Lana with praise and Archer with contempt in equal parts, Lana filling in the gaps at her house, in the safety of her bedroom, bruising Archer's ass with her flog and hands, telling him he was good, wanted, hers.

This went on for months. 

Lana let the back of her head rest on his thigh, him perched on the far side of his couch. Woodhouse banged pots in the other room. His phone rang, and he picked it up after a few minutes, with a, “Y’ello?”

She sleepily blinked her eyes, not at all focused on the movie he’d put on. She’d taken one-too-many punches to the gut in the last few days, doped up on booze and painkillers at his offer. “Oh, hey, Krieger. No, no.” He paused, fingers touching her newly-relaxed, weaved hair. He'd learned quickly he couldn't run his fingers through it, after Lana had freaked out on him for pulling at her track. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about it, but he’d said he liked that style at one point, liked it long and straight, so Lana figured she would at least try. She sort of missed her afro, but it made him happy, it was growing on her.

“No, I’m with my girlfriend. Yeah, it’s fine, I figured-- hey, that thing I asked you about, don’t forget, okay? Yeah. Fine. Bye.” He hung up the phone, but Lana felt the conversation looping through her mind. Girlfriend. _Girlfriend_.

He picked up on it, immediately, for someone so slow on the uptake. “What?”

“Girlfriend?” she parroted, peering up at him. She felt sweat start under her arms.

“Uh, oh, yeah. I mean, I guess I just figured, because this has been, like, a thing for a few months now, that I could call you that. Unless you don’t think that, in which case, I will refer to you… otherwise.”

“I--” She cut herself off, then swallowed. “No, I mean, I just, we haven’t really talked about it. But it’s okay, I guess.”

“You guess.”

“I… guess I don’t hate being called that.” She pointedly looked at the ceiling.

“Okay.” He paused, cleared his throat. “It’s not a big deal, Lana.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“Then just relax, idiot.”

“Fine,” she mumbled, letting her eyes close again. Girlfriend. He’d called her his girlfriend.

She wasn’t quite sure why her chest felt so tight, or why she wanted to get up and run away so badly. Her stomach crawled. This would hurt her. She couldn’t tell him she was afraid he would hurt her.

Instead, Lana let him know with the paddle she used on his ass, the red marks on the back of his thighs, pulling his hair as he willingly submitted to her. He begged her not to tell anyone, that she saw him like this, that she made him her equal in the bedroom this way. 

She begged _herself_ to ignore the fact that she was losing herself to him, that every time he excitedly told her about one of his obsessions, he kissed her after a mission, she would fall for him a little bit more. This was dangerous. Lana knew she was in trouble.

Still… when they went out with the guys from ISIS, his hand at her lower back, owning her, claiming her as they tried to flirt, she felt wanted, felt fragile safety with him. Soon, people knew about them, and she felt strange pride bloom inside her, that she’d been the one to tame one Sterling Archer, noted slut, thus-far unconquered by any woman. He was hers.

Lana clung to that feeling, despite what her head was telling her. She hated herself for wanting him so badly, but still, he had her back on missions. He held her at night, didn’t say what he was feeling, and she couldn’t tell anyhow.

She knew it was dangerous, her affection for him. Still, Lana Kane ran into danger like it called her name, personally, and every time he did, _Lana, Lana, Lana_ , she would come to him like clockwork. 

She was never very good at trusting her gut. Or her head. Or her eyes. 

Really, anything other than her stupid, eager heart.


End file.
